


Hide-and-Seek

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxious Jack, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Shitty Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack wants Bittle in the worst way. Sometimes you need a push.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide-and-Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah – so – this was a dream. Woke me up at 2:30 in the morning the other day:P
> 
> Thanks mattsloved1 for looking it over for me:)

It seems like a good idea at the time.

 

Shitty barks, “all right Mofos, let’s play a game!”

 

It starts innocently enough. Shitty, Lardo and Bittle visiting, throwing an impromptu apartment warming party, but just them, Jack and his three closest friends.

 

He didn’t realize how much he’d missed this, between the training and the workouts and the practices, there was little or no time for visiting or chatting. Texts shot off quickly, a fast phone call.

 

And Skyping.

 

Skyping with Shitty or sometimes Shitty and Lardo.

 

And Bittle.

 

It hangs there like the moon or the stars, bright with possibilities unspoken when he chats with Bittle. Words that fill his brain but not his mouth. Chained expressions painfully held at bay. If he lets them go, just says them, hot and heavy, his tongue shaping them, rolling them out through his teeth, what then? He won’t be able to pull them back in and bury them once they’re freed.

 

He spins in the web of anxiety-ridden thoughts after speaking with Bittle, every single time. What if there’s nothing said back? What if a little too much understanding and kindness creep into Bittle's expression, but that’s it?

 

And how can he release the words and be honest if Bittle has to hide what he is, has to understand Jack can’t show the world how much he means? An impossible situation of Bittle shackled with his silence.

 

And Shitty knows. Shitty gazes at him, and he knows. “Just tell him,” he says in a manner few could imagine. Not the hyper Shitty, or the hail-and-well-met fellow he plays for the crowd, but the soft and sad Shitty, who struggles with his feelings for Larissa and just fucking knows.

 

He’s nervous when Shitty says they’re dropping by, not because of Shitty or Lardo.

 

He’s nervous because of all the things unsaid; all the things left hanging there, waiting and pulsing between him and Bittle. The chance he hadn’t taken and should have, the regret that he never made it to Georgia in the summer, the fear that ate his soul every time he wants to say something, do something, declare something.

 

They sit in his apartment, just talking, but not of hopes and dreams and futures, just shooting the shit. Only a few beers are drunk, and Shitty doesn’t even mentioned pot as if the ground work’s there for clearheaded conversations and soul-searching possibilities without chemical interference. Jack’s only had a few sips of beer, but it’s enough to dull the edge, the spiky, sharp feel of everything, makes him feel a bit more relaxed. He’s careful it doesn’t happen too often, to watch he doesn’t get use to the false courage, but tonight it’s okay.

 

And now…

 

Now somehow they’re involved in a game of Hide-and-Seek.

 

Shitty starts it; there’s some mischief hanging on him, it cloaks him, giving him the role of the troublemaker, which sits quite comfortably on him. He’s been laughing manically, but looks at Jack seriously, significantly and says,

 

“Hide-and-Seek.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m it. Go!”

 

Jack sits there for a minute, waiting for his brain to catch up. Lardo and Bittle scramble off the couch and run, already scouting the best places in a Spartan apartment.

 

“Shitty…

 

“One, two…get the fuck out of here, bro, you’ve only got to twenty-five…three…”

 

Jack stares, confused.

 

“Go, for fuck’s sake, Jack, I know you’re still standing there, move that magnificent ass. The game’s a fucking metaphor! Ten…”

 

Jack runs, runs for his room. Although still new to him, it’s becoming his favorite. He’d let himself indulge in luxury for a change instead of austerity. His mother had helped find Egyptian cotton everything with impossible thread counts, a soft cocoon of a duvet and more pillows than he knows what to do with. But after sleeping in it, once he’d Skyped Bittle in it, once he’d thought about him in ways one doesn’t about a good friend, once he’d imagine unwrapping his friend, his maybe lover, warm and caramel, sugary sweet cinnamon kissing him, lips touching, scorching heat in his belly, once then.

 

When the furniture company had delivered his bed, he’d been in the middle of a conversation of utmost importance with Shitty and had said “just set it up,” not thinking. He had signed for the delivery, eaten lunch and gone in to make up the enormous, total unnecessary king sized bed. He’d stood there and pulled a few choice curse words in a language spoken from birth. They’d placed it closer to one wall than necessary, leaving only just enough room to maneuver around it to make the bed. He’d sighed and wondered about calling some of the guys to come over and help him center it. He didn’t because that would mean bothering people.

 

Now the far side makes an excellent hiding place because he can’t see from the doorway. Scrambling across the bed, hoping he doesn’t leave too much evidence of his journey, he ducks down on the other side and hears,

 

“Ow!”

 

Bittle’s already there.

 

“Sorry!” Standing there, indecisive, he begins to move to find another location, but the shout of “twenty-five!” travels down the hallway.

 

“No time! Come here!” A warm and comfortable hand pulls him down to face Bittle’s stomach.

 

Surprisingly there’s just enough room. Bittle lays with his head closest to the wall the headboard’s set against. Jack’s is in the other direction. Bittle’s nowhere near to touching the wall, and he’s scrunched up a bit. Jack’s also scrunched a bit.

 

And his face is in line with Bittle’s stomach.

 

His face is in line with Bittle’s stomach. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

 

It had been a warm autumn day, turning into a warm autumn night. The windows are open, because although he has air conditioning, he much prefers a fresh breeze.

 

Now in spite of a fresh breeze, down here, on the floor, face to face with Bittle’s stomach, it’s more than a little hot.

 

And Bittle, well, Bittle’s wearing those goddam red shorts of his and a tight t-shirt, because it’s like summer out there.

 

A tight, white t-shirt.

 

An old, tight, white t-shirt, comfortable for visiting friends in, thin and translucent enough to suggest that Bittle may have been working out this past summer. That Bittle’s abs are more defined than Jack’s imagination had led him to, well, imagine.

 

And because he’d been in a hurry to hide here beside Jack’s bed, Bittle’s shirt is rucked up, a bit, just a wee bit, just enough to show a sliver of skin. And because Bittle had been in a hurry and his shorts are unbelievably short and what was that word Bittle sometimes used to describe someone’s posterior? Bootylicious. They’re pulled tight to his bootylicious posterior.

 

 _Oh My God_ , he whispers reverently in his head. Eric Richard Bittle is the most bootylicious, tight t-shirt wearing little shit Jack has every feasted his eyes on.

 

Mouth dry and heart working harder than it ever does during a game, Jack licks his lips.

 

Licking his lips, Jack moves his hand to wipe his brow because there’s sweat gathering there. He lifts his hand and accidently, oh-my-god-so-accidently comes in contact with that wee bit of flesh, waiting for him, created for him. He freezes. His hand, his fingertips gently touch that glorious, beautiful, summer tanned, apricot flavored, mouth-watering piece of skin. That little bit of Bitty skin, the shadow at the top of his hips, the crease, is barely visible, barely hinted at, at the top of his shorts.

 

Vaguely, in the distance, in another world, down a tunnel and obstructed from his thought process, he hears Shitty moving around the apartment. Vaguely he hears him catch Lardo in the guest bedroom shower. Vaguely he hears the bathroom door slam and the shower start. Vaguely he hears giggles and he wonders is the game still on or had this been the game all along?

 

He swallows and is sure the sound travels around the room. He swallows, and there is an accompanying groan, moan, noise of frustrated pain from near his feet. He looks up, and Bittle is looking at him. And his eyes, his chocolate and coffee eyes, are black, darker than Jack has ever seen them.

 

Sweat also gathers on Bittle’s brow. Sweat makes it’s way down Bittle’s neck, a slow roll of salt and water. Bittle makes a nose beyond human and puts his head back down. Covering his face with his hands, he groans again.

 

“I …” says Jack, eloquently.

 

“Don’t,” says Bittle, with more meaning in it.

 

“I…” repeats Jack, clear this time.

 

“Please,” says Bittle, soft and sad.

 

“Oh!” says Jack. And he pushes the fear away. He pushes the indecision and for once he doesn’t weigh the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘maybes’, he reaches out and with his fingertips he touches, this time with purpose and clarity, he lightly brushes that glorious, little piece of skin. He watches as Bittle’s stomach muscles flex in reaction. He hears with wonder, the gasp from Bittle’s mouth. He tells panic to shut the fuck up and then he leans in and carefully, with so much care, presses his lips right there.

 

“Jack,” sighs Bittle, he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath forever, for a lifetime, since the day he first met Jack. “Jack, honey, don’t tease.”

 

Jack looks up, and he can see Bittle’s face, see the worry and the resolve to bury his heart if it’s torn in two. Sees what he’s missed in all of his fear and demons. Bittle loves him, loves him with a fierceness that steals his breath.

 

“Bitty,” he ghosts. And he finds Bittle’s hand, and laces his fingers together, and he squeezes just enough to tell Bittle he’s got him, he’s here, and he squeezes again and it says ‘I’m never, not ever letting you go.’

 

Shifting a bit, his shoulder’s beginning to fall asleep, he pulls his other arm out from under him and braces his back against the bed frame, reaches out and pulls Bittle’s shorts down some more and leans in. He kitten licks the strip of skin, and it is caramel, and apricot, it is cinnamon and sunshine. It tastes of salt and sweat and Bittle gasps and sobs just once. Jack pulls a bit more on the shorts, and he leans in, and he sucks right there on Bittle’s hip. He sucks and licks and groans. He pushes his mouth into Bittle, who pants and sobs and prays Jacks name.

 

Reaching down and patting at Jack’s hair, he pats and touches, picking up stray strands of it and not quite tugging. “Jack,” he says, “Jack, can we, um…”

 

Jack looks up afraid, afraid because he hadn’t asked, he had assumed and oh god, Bittle has tears on his face and what the fuck is he thinking?

 

“Hey now,” Bittle says soft and calming, “Hey now if I didn’t want y’all doing that most magnificent thing you are doing, I would have told you so. I just wondered if we could move up onto the bed ‘cause it’s there, and it’s bigger than a bed has a right to be and well,” Bittle blushes, red and scorching, blushes all the way down to this little piece of skin. “You could, um, spread me out.”

 

He buries his face in his hands, and Jack knows. Jack can see that Bittle has the same thoughts, the same molten desires, of Jack laying him on the bed and unwrapping him and he almost stops breathing and panics in a new way.

 

Standing and holding out his hand, he pulls Bittle up, and they’re facing each other with awkward smiles, and Bittle’s chest is against his stomach, and he is sure Bittle can feel what’s pressing up between them.

 

“Hello there,” Bittle says, smiling so large.

 

He places his hand on Jack’s chest and goes up on his toes and puts his mouth, soft lips, warm breath, on Jack’s mouth, and Jack leans into it like Bittle is rescuing him. He wraps an arm around him, pulls him in so tight and so close they’re going to melt and fuse together. Bittle breaks the kiss off, climbs backward onto the bed and tosses his head. Jack has always wondered what they meant buy a ‘come-hither’ stare but there it is. Pulling his shirt off, Jack throws it and kneels on the bed beside Bittle. They come together all fevered kisses and groping hands and a few ‘sorrys’ as teeth and noses bang into each other. Bittle giggles a bit, but Jack recognizes it as nerves; he smiles and cups Bittle’s face. He moves his hand, slow and sure to cradle the back of Bittle’s head, to lay him down. Kneeling above him, it is so much like his fantasy he aches with it. He trails a hand down Bittle’s chest still covered with the tight white t-shirt. He hooks his fingers in the top of Bittle’s shorts and teases a bit. Bittle is biting his lip and just looking into Jack’s eyes, devouring it all.

 

Jack tugs the shorts down slow and sweet, revealing more and more of Bittle’s skin all rose gold and smooth. Bittle’s cock is slender like he is, slender and perfect, lying in a thatch of darker golden curls. Jack just brushes through them, just a bit, just to hear that sound that comes from Bittle’s mouth. Sitting up a bit, Bittle pulls his t-shirt off of his head, and Jack leans forward and kisses him, slowly, reverently, with more worship than he’d ever felt in any church. He kisses him, pours in all he feels, kisses past his mouth and down his neck, stops at the juncture where it meets his shoulder and licks and tastes. Kisses Bittle’s chest where his hair’s as golden as on his head sucks his nipples and Bittle gasps and pushes a bit at Jack.

 

“I ain’t gonna last if y’all don’t stop,” he wheezes and Jack smirks, just smirks.

 

“You are a menace, Jack Zimmermann.”

 

Jack looks at Bittle; his eyes are hooded and dark. “Is this okay?” he asks, because he hadn’t asked before and Bittle smiles, tremulously and nods.

 

Jack takes Bittle into his mouth, and Bittle shouts out, “Oh my goodness.” Jack glances up at Bittle and chuckles with his mouth full, which sends another shout out into the room. Jack licks and tastes and kisses and Bittle rocks a bit, his face covered and then he says,

 

“Jack, stop! I’m…” but before Jack can stop or do anything Bittle bucks his hips and comes. And Jack, surprised but fine with it all, swallows.

 

Bittle is breathing hard, his face still covered and then he whispers, “I did not just do that!”

 

Jack rubs his hand on Bittle’s leg.

 

Bittle peeks through his fingers and then he swats at Jack. “I am so embarrassed.”

 

“Why?” asks Jack, “Did…was it…not…okay?”

 

Bittle looks at him, “Oh my goodness. Jack! How can you ask that?” He reaches up, grabs Jack around the neck and kisses him and kisses him and Jack fills to overflowing with the taste of Bittle in his mouth, and the thought of Bittle tasting himself in Jack’s mouth, and he is aching, and so hard he could come just from the thought of it. And Bittle breaks it off and looks at Jack, all serious and says, “Mercy Jack! You need looking after!”

 

Jack says, “Lie back, Bitty.”

 

He pulls his shorts off, and his boxers and Bitty just looks, his eyes huge. “Oh my!’ he whispers.

 

“Is this okay?” Jack asks again, flustered and unsure.

 

“More than.”

Jack kneels between Bittle’s legs and runs his hand down his cock, strokes it. Bittle, oh god, he reaches forward and caresses Jack, his balls, the base of his cock, the tip and it’s driving him insane and before he is ready, before he wants to, he comes, and it paints Bittle’s golden skin. Jack’s eyes screw up, and he shudders through, while Bittle’s touches, gentles him.

 

Peace, blissful calming peace, enters in and Jack slumps forward, leaning on one arm. He opens his eyes and Bittle is there, just staring at him and they giggle a bit.

Bittle looks down at his chest, and laughs, “Well, now that’s getting cold.” And they giggle some more while Jack roots around for some Kleenex. He wipes Bittle’s chest, tosses the used Kleenex to the floor and lies down beside him, hard enough to make the bed rattle.

 

Bittle curls up into him, kisses him on the nose. “Hi there.”

 

Jack smiles, “Hi yourself.”

 

“So …does this mean we’re dating?”

 

“If, um, if, if you want.”

 

“Good.” And Bittle wraps his arm around Jack's waist and scoots as close as he can. Jack, in turn, holds Bittle, close and treasured.

 

Jack knows, he knows they have much to discuss, and maybe this wasn’t the smartest way to start a relationship, but it had felt like it might be the right way and as if he had been waiting for Bittle for more than forever.

 

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he knew it would be okay. For the first time in a long time, this is more right, realer than any other thing in his life.

 

They snuggle together, holding each other, drifting off when they hear Shitty whoop. Apparently neither had thought to close the bedroom door.

 

“Boo yeah, you fuckers!” Shitty laughs. “Literally! Found you! Now who’s gonna be it?”

 

Jack throws one of the numerous pillows at the door and Shitty leaves, laughing, most likely heading back to the guest bedroom, hopefully to a waiting Lardo.

 

Jack smiles into Bittle’s hair, inhaling his incredible, edible scent.

 

“You’re it,” he says. It’s corny and cheesy as all get out but Bittle smiles and kisses him again, slow and sure.

 

And he is it. He is it in all the right ways.


End file.
